The Night Horde SoCal: Fire And Dark Part 9

And she took it. "What does he want?"

Sighing, he pushed the table over his bed away. "I was supposed to move a brick for him. I found a buyer with a better price. I figured I'd sell to him, bring Raul the money he was expecting, and pocket the rest. But the hijo de puta paid me in counterfeit bills."

She sat hard in the chair next to the bed. "Jesus, Hugo. A kee? That's like, what, thirty grand?"

"Thirty-five. Guy paid me fifty. In funny money."

The parts of the equation were starting to find their proper place. "So you didn't bring product to Raul's customer. You sold that product to somebody he doesn't know. And he paid you in trash." Hugo didn't answer, but he didn't need to. "Oh, you stupid culo. What does he want to put you even?"

"I don't know. He was still at the working out his rage part when you showed up. And with bikers, right? I'm remembering that right? The Horde?"

"Yeah."

"Raul hates those f.u.c.kers. You bringing them into his house...yeah, that trouble's on you. I'll deal with my s.h.i.+t. You deal with yours."

"You won't deal with your s.h.i.+t, Hugo. You never do. Until the day you die, you'll be looking for somebody to take your heat for you. It's what you do."

Hugo turned on the television and focused his attention there, away from her. "Well, maybe Raul will kill me after all and make your life that much better."

That broke her heart. When Hugo was born, Pilar had been ecstatic. A little brother. Someone to care for and play mother to, someone to sit with her stuffed animals and take her lessons. As he'd gotten older, they'd continued to be close. He'd followed her everywhere. Then his father and their mother had both been killed in much the same way her father had been killed, and they'd been moved away from the home they'd known, out of a.s.sa.s.sins turf.

They'd had only each other. Their grandmother had slaved to be a good provider and a good nurturer, both. She'd done as well as she could, and Pilar had picked up the slack, getting Hugo to school, making his meals, trying to help with his homework. She'd loved him so much. From the day he'd come home wrapped in a knitted blue shawl.

She still loved that little boy. But she didn't know the man he'd become. And she knew it was her fault, at least in part, that he'd turned out as he had. In middle school, when he'd started to drift, she hadn't known how to steer him back on course. All she'd done had been to shout and fight.

That was all they'd been doing since. They didn't like each other much anymore. But she still loved him. She'd still die for him.

She sat and watched television with him. She'd told their grandmother she'd stay.

So she stayed.

"Cordero, here! I'm open!"

They were getting in some fitness time on their next watch. Pilar wasn't much good at basketball, but this wasn't really much of a basketball game. The rules were fluid. They split into teams and shot baskets and blocked shots until they were bored or worn out. It got physical.

Pilar turned, pus.h.i.+ng back on Moore, and threw the basketball to Reyes, who sank the basket. Moore grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her up, pretty much tossing her out of his way.

"Foul! Foul!"

Moore laughed. "That's your p.u.s.s.y talking, sugarplum. You need to toughen up."

She punched him in the solar plexus.

"Ow! f.u.c.k!" He doubled over, clutching at his chest.

"Now who's the p.u.s.s.y?"

Moore picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, then caught a pa.s.s with one hand and heaved it at the basket. He missed, probably because Pilar was punching him in the kidneys.

"Put me down! You're getting your man slime all over me!" He was s.h.i.+rtless and sweaty and smelled like a horse. Some men's sweat smelled s.e.xy-Connor's, for instance. Not Moore's.

While she was still hanging upside down, there was a pause in the action.

"Uh, Cordero?" Perez said. "Got a guest."

Moore set her back on her feet. When her vision settled, she saw Connor standing near the corner of the building. His arms were crossed over his chest. He was wearing dark sungla.s.ses; the lenses had an iridescent blue tint.

She didn't like the fluttery thing her belly did when she saw him-or the faint sense of guilt she felt, either, compelling her to step away from Moore.

She started toward Connor, but Moore pulled her back. "I got this."

"f.u.c.k you, a.s.shole." She jockeyed to get in front of him, but he muscled her back and got to Connor first.

"Hey, man." He held out his hand. "Kyle Moore."

Connor looked at it for a second. Then he stood tall and shook hands. "Hey. Connor Elliott. We've met."

Pilar got the sense that Connor was p.i.s.sed-like, jealous. She liked it.

Moore grinned. "I know. I kicked your a.s.s."

"Just surprised me with those p.u.s.s.y dance moves."

"Kickboxing, not the tango."

"Whatever. Gimme a rematch, I'll take you down."

Moore's stance changed now, too, got more aggressive. "Friday night at The Deck? About eight o'clock?"

"Make it nine. I got plans before that."

"You're on."

"Good."

"Good."

"Okay, okay. Rulers away, boys." Pilar grabbed Connor's arm and dragged him forward, around the building and to the driveway at the front of the station. "What are you doing here?"

"You banging that guy?"

"What?" The man who'd gone for p.u.s.s.y straight from her house was asking who she was f.u.c.king? Yeah, no.

"You two were rubbing all over each other. Do you f.u.c.k him?"

"First, who the f.u.c.k are you to ask? And second, what the f.u.c.k are you doing here?"

For enough seconds that she almost left him standing where he was and went back to deal with whatever s.h.i.+t her buddies were ready to ration out, he just stared down at her, his eyes s.h.i.+elded by his sungla.s.ses. Then he shook himself a little and smiled. Watching his face, Pilar got the sense that the smile took effort. But once it was on, it was sincere-and smug.

"You look good, all sweaty and in that tiny s.h.i.+rt."

He reached out, but she knocked his hand away. "What. The f.u.c.k. Do you want?"

The smile faded. "To see you. We never exchanged numbers. I was riding by and figured I'd see if you were around. You were. Doing basketball p.o.r.n."

"Don't be an a.s.shole. Give me your phone." He pulled it out of a pocket and handed it to her, and she keyed in her number. Then she called herself. Her phone was in the barn, but it didn't matter. "There." She handed his phone back. "Now we've exchanged numbers and you've made a hot date with Kyle. Did you get what you want?"

"Have dinner with me."

"What?"

"Dinner. Evening meal. Let's go out to eat Friday."

"You said you had plans. And you've already got a date to get your a.s.s kicked on Friday."

"That's not how it's going down. But a man's gotta eat, doomed or not. The plans I have are with you. I figure we eat, I hand your buddy his b.a.l.l.s, and then I take you back to your place and f.u.c.k you with all your interesting toys."

Oh, that was a good plan. "I'm back here Sat.u.r.day morning. We won't have time to use all my toys."

And the grin was back-the melty one he used when he was getting his way. "We'll get a start. So you're in, then?"

The thought of watching him in the ring was enough to make her want to jump him right there on the driveway. The thought of playing with him and her toys wasn't making her any calmer. And she liked this jealousy thing he seemed to have. She shouldn't like it; warning bells should have been going off like crazy, but they were strangely silent.

"You want to take me on a date?"

He shrugged. "Call it a date if you want. Eat, drink, fight, f.u.c.k-just sounds like a Friday night to me."

Pilar laughed. It sounded like a great date to her. "Yeah, I'm in. Pick me up at seven. You know where I live."

"Yes, I do. I'll see you then." He bent down and kissed her cheek, brus.h.i.+ng his beard over her skin as he moved his mouth to her ear. "Wear something s.l.u.tty."

And then he turned and walked back to his bike.

Pilar watched him mount up and ride off. She had no choice; she felt cemented to the spot.

CHAPTER NINE.

Cordero opened her front door as Connor walked up to it. She stood in the doorway with one hand on the jamb.

And d.a.m.n, she looked fine. He'd told her to wear something s.l.u.tty, but he had not been prepared for what she was wearing: a tiny black dress that looked like it had been painted on her skin. Short, the hem just a couple of inches below her perfect a.s.s, and plain, just stretchy black fabric that clung to her like Saran wrap. It had longish sleeves, below her elbow, and the neckline was off her shoulders. Her hair was loose, her wild waves cascading darkly over her bare shoulders. The only jewelry she wore was a pair of thin gold hoop earrings and that little gold crucifix.

He didn't know how the crucifix wasn't burning itself right into her chest, because that dress was pure sin. The urge to just grab her and take her back to her bed right the f.u.c.k now was so strong that he stepped up onto the threshold.

Then his eyes traveled the length of her bare, bronze legs, shapely with muscle. And on her feet were a pair of bright pink f.u.c.k-me shoes with heels about five, maybe even six inches high.

He lifted his eyes back to hers to find her giving him a look full of laser-sharp derision. "You get your eyeful?"

"Hot d.a.m.n, Cordero. You clean up right. It's not even s.l.u.tty. It's just pure s.e.x."

She grinned, and he could see that he'd pleased her. "I don't dress like this much."

"You should. Every day." He himself was dressed in good jeans, a white b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt, and, currently, his kutte-though he wouldn't wear it into the restaurant. This was about as dressed up as he knew how to be. "I was just going to take you to The Bunkhouse. They have the best steak. But you're too fancy for that. We could go to Blue Sky instead." He wasn't much of a fan of Blue Sky, which was probably the nicest joint in Madrone. He'd been there once. The food was good, but it was the kind of place where the waiter wanted you to taste the wine first, and she'd probably want wine. He hated all that pomp and circ.u.mstance over some d.a.m.n grape juice.

"I love The Bunkhouse. That sounds great."

"Cool." He felt ridiculously awkward, probably because he hadn't been on a date in more than five years. Then he recognized another snag: her outfit. "I can't have you on my bike like that. Too dangerous."

"No problem. I'll drive." She turned to the side and picked her keys up out of a glazed ceramic bowl that sat on a nearby table. When she turned, he saw that the heels on those pink shoes were covered with faceted pink spikes, all over. They glittered in the light. Holy Christ.

"I don't ride b.i.t.c.h. But I'll drive your car." He held out his hand, expecting her to hand him her keys.

She crossed her arms, keys firmly in her fist. "I don't ride b.i.t.c.h, either. Not in my own f.u.c.king car."

They stared at each other. Connor hadn't ridden b.i.t.c.h with a woman behind the wheel since he was old enough to drive. Even his mother had handed over her keys as soon as he'd had a license.

His hand was still out, waiting for the keys. He pushed it forward a little. "C'mon, Cordero. It's not that big a deal."

"You're right. No big deal. So I'll drive. Or I'll meet you there." When he still hesitated, she huffed. "Dude, it's like you don't want this to happen. If you don't, it's cool. I'll just see you at The Deck later and watch Moore serve you up your a.s.s."

Connor wanted the date. He wanted her on the back of his bike-and failing that, he wanted her at his side, with that little dress hiked up. Since that night in the storeroom at The Deck, he'd been thinking a lot about this demanding woman with the Ironman body.

He sighed. "Fine. Drive."

She nodded and pushed him gently until he stepped down from the threshold. Then she followed and locked her door. As they walked to her Element, she said, "That was the first stupid he-man thing you've done with me. It knocks your hot score down. Just sayin'." She pressed her fob, and the doors unlocked automatically.

As Connor opened the pa.s.senger door, he spoke over the roof of her Element. "I'm guessing my score can take a couple of hits. And I'm not used to a girl digging her heels in like you do."

"You need to start spending time with more women, then." As she put her foot in the car and prepared to slide in, she stopped. "Play your cards right, though, and I'll dig these heels in deep later."

d.a.m.n.

The Bunkhouse was Madrone's best steakhouse. There were a couple others, but they were franchises of big chains, and neither their food nor their atmosphere was as good. This place was locally owned and had been in Madrone for decades. Its decor was consistent with its name and the Wild West heritage of Old Towne, where the restaurant had originally been located until an earthquake in the Nineties-which hadn't done much more than knock things off shelves in most buildings-had put a huge crack straight through the restaurant. Restoration of the historical building had proved too expensive, so The Bunkhouse had moved to the commercial district of Madrone. But they'd kept the rustic feel at their new location.

The new site was near the Horde clubhouse. Thus, Connor knew the place well and had become friends with Rusty, the owner.

It was Rusty who greeted them and led them to a booth set back in a dark corner. They sat facing each other and opened their menus. Then Becky, a waitress Connor knew...well...came over with his usual gla.s.s of Shock Top. She had nothing for Cordero, not even a gla.s.s of water, and she didn't even look at her. Great. He hadn't calculated female drama of this kind into his night.

"Hey, Connor," she said sweetly.